


The Stories We Tell

by Kaisea



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaisea/pseuds/Kaisea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows how Fiori Lavellan journeyed beyond the safety of her clan, unexpectedly coming to lead the Inquisition after her contact with Corypheus. But these are the stories you haven't heard.</p><p>Spoilers: Everything in game and DLC.<br/>A collection in rough order, hopefully avoiding story covered by the game itself. Some chapters may lead directly on from the last, others might be stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The cities of Ferelden were very different from those of the Freemarches. It was much colder, with a bite to the wind that was far too alien. The trees were taller, sturdier from enduring the weight of winter snows.  
Far from the bustling trade of her warmer homelands, these cities moved with the pace of a grazing druffalo. There was commerce, but it was hidden behind shop fronts and encased in glass displays. Business was secretive, away from the open streets. She missed the cries of traders fresh off the boats, the smell of fish and dust in the harsh sun. Here was the scent of snow and ice, speaking of harsh winters to come, even the faces of the people were somehow hard, with gnarled roots that ran deep into the frozen earth.

Fiori pulled her scarf closer around her face, hiding the pale ink that decorated her cheeks and the tips of her long ears flushed red by the frost. The Dalish were a rarer sight here, it was better to pass as a city Elf if she could.

Her driver said little as he clicked his tongue, flicking the reins and urging the carthorse into a slightly faster plod. She sneezed. It was much too cold.

Without a word the Marcher beside her tugged a pelt from his load, dropping it over her knees without taking his eyes from the road ahead. It was thick bear skin, big enough to wrap over her shoulders as well as her legs. She sniffed out her thanks. He nodded.

The cart rolled over a stone, making her fair rattle with the amount of trinkets and tokens sewn into her clothes. The rough cotton did little to shield her from the elements, but her clan had seen fit to shove her into as many layers as they could spare. Their hunters had carved the toggles from animal teeth and bones, their mages inlaid each with charms of protection and cloaking. Friends had draped her with amulets and lucky talismans. Her Keeper had given her a staff made of sturdy willow, plain enough to pass as a travellers walking stick but suitable for channeling her mana in a pinch.

She stood out like a sore thumb amongst the furs and comfortable linens of the Ferelden people. The pains of her Clan to ensure her safety did only the opposite.

The Frostbacks loomed in the distance, the wind already carrying the taste of snow to her lips. She shuddered and huddled deeper into her furs. The words of her Keeper still echoed in ears, sounding far too ominous for what was supposed to be a return journey.

_“Go well, Da’len, and may The Dread Wolf never hear your steps.”_


	2. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas

The dungeons beneath Haven’s Chantry were like most: Cold and damp, the perfect place for Death to creep upon one unexpectedly in the night. The very truth that The Chantry, a supposed place of peace and sanctuary, was equipped with such a facility was proof in his mind that this Era had become rotten beyond belief. The temples of the past were places of rest and meditation, of simple beauty and restoration. Not corruption. No. That came after.

Nevertheless, he would make do with what he had.

The prisoner had been afforded a small bunk draped in rough wool, protecting them from the worst of the damp and the mould. The healers had already bandaged much of their wounds and they were swathed in many blankets to ward off the chill. Apparently The Seeker was not as ruthless as she first appeared. Yet even through the layers of thick fabric the green pulse of magic was visible, and he felt it as a sharp tug in his mind.

He shook the feeling away, conscious of the watchful gaze of the guards at his back as he entered the cell, dropping to the floor beside the sickbed and inspecting his patient. His latest would-be victim. He pulled back the covers a little.

He had heard rumours of course, but he had never expected that they might be one of The People.

Well. An Elf at least. The shape of her ears certainly resembled those of his kin, yet her stature and the slightness of her figure was alien to him. It spoke of a hardship his people had not endured, of centuries without magic, of a lack of food, lack of living, lack of… everything.

That old guilt gnawed at his stomach, and once again he pushed it away as he turned his attention to the Mark on her hand.

His magic screamed at him, burning and twisting to be free from the flesh of this mortal that had trapped it. It thrashed and tore at the threads of life that bound it, that struggled to contain this power that it was never made to bear. He closed his eyes, smothered for a moment by the energy that washed over him.

Overwhelmed by his own magic. He never thought he’d fall so far.

The Fade wrapped green light around his fingers as he pulled past The Veil, he set the pattern and watched the spell flare briefly before it faded into her palm. The Mark responded, hissing and spitting for a moment before settling like a storm in a glass, dormant and calm.

She was singed, coming apart at the seams, battered and torn by the storm. It was several hours before he was sure she would suffer no immediate pain upon waking.

The Mark was still a problem, pulsing and surging with each flash of the sky outside. There was nothing more he could do for now. Not until he reclaimed The Orb. Then perhaps he could do something to save this unfortunate who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because she would die, there was no avoiding it as he was now. His power would tear her apart from the inside out.

Unless he stayed. Unless he offered his help and kept The Mark under control. Kept it from destroying her. Perhaps she could be an ally. Perhaps he could turn this whole situation to his advantage.


	3. Fiori

She woke in utter darkness.

The sound and smell of water seeped at the edge of her senses, blurring the lines between dream and reality until it was impossible for her to distinguish between the green ambience of The Fade and the cold rock beneath her skin, pressing up against her cheek and thigh, drilling into her skull.  
She blinked away the spots dancing in her eyelids, pushing The Fade beyond The Veil, opening her eyes to her surroundings. Solid, real once more.  
Yet the green glow remained.

Fiori pushed herself from the cold floor and almost immediately collapsed again from the searing pain in her head. No, not her head, her hand. It felt as though someone had driven a hot poker through the middle of her palm, the muscles parting and the bone split. She gasped loudly against the stone as she pushed back against the pain, finding her senses, letting the pain gradually wash away as her brain became numb to it. She flexed her fingers experimentally and found nothing but a dull twinge.  
She sat up.

It was a dungeon, that much was immediately obvious. She had the sense she was underground somewhere. The silence was heavy enough to be suffocating. Or maybe that was the walls. Or the water constantly dripping down them. Or the darkness. Or perhaps it was everything all at once but suddenly the air was too thick to breathe and her lungs were burning.  
Bile rose in her throat, she staggered over to the wall and leant against it, letting the panic wash over her. The texture of the stone pressed into her palms, right through her skin, cool and solid and a lot more real than her legs which were shaking like leaves in a breeze.

The doors crashed open and she was dragged to her feet, bound and shackled and dropped to the floor again before there were more people, more light and more sounds and she couldn’t process them beyond the screaming in her ears and the sharp crackle of the mysterious light in her hand.  
What was it? Was she dreaming? It didn’t feel like The Fade. It was too painfully hard and real. So many sensations she couldn’t stop and think.

Fiori took a deep breath, feeling the temperature change as the air entered her lungs, before she exhaled slowly, sparks dancing from her lips in a flurry of heat and light. The Templars around her step back, one already preparing a Smite before the doors were flung open once more. Her sparks hissed out on the damp floor as a woman approached, circling her like a predator with prey, her boots loud on the stone. After her magic dissipated the Templars nearby relaxed, stepping back into the shadows. The taste of ashes were still in her mouth, and she could breathe again.

The woman who came to see her was cast mostly in shadow, but for a single moment when she seized her wrist and dragged her hand up between them. The mysterious light fizzed and spat in the gloom, casting everything a sickly Fade green.

In that light Fiori could see her captor clearly, she had time to glimpse short cropped hair secured with a braid around her crown, sharp dark eyes and a scar that gave her features a piercing quality. She was all angles and slopes, like the peak of a mountain; a fearsome sort of beauty. Speaking to her was like speaking into the force of an avalanche. All raw fury and grief too close around the edges. Reason was impossible. Mercy more foolish still.

She couldn't explain or fathom how she had got here. Why she was the only survivor. Cassandra's voice was too loud, too angry, there were no words to soothe her temper.

But perhaps... perhaps she could _show_ her her innocence. Prove herself useful, helpful. Wasn't that how Elves always survived these days?


	4. Solas

The Rift was a puzzle. One he found himself ill-equipped to solve as he evaded another set of grasping claws, squinting until his eyes burned from the effort. There must be _something_ he could do about this, even with his limited power. Some way to repair this little tear. Because it was little - before he had slept he could have sealed this much without a thought, but now... _now._

Another demon almost cleaned him from the snow. His body was not responding in the way he was used to. It was frustrating, to put it lightly.

The sound of reinforcements reached his ears. Cassandra and a new voice he couldn't place. There were too many people in this place, too many faces he had to learn and place names to. Perhaps this was what getting old felt like.

 

Cassandra arrived, her sword cutting a bloody swathe to reach him in seconds. He had to say he was thankful for her shield at his back as he turned to face The Rift again, almost boiling with frustration. There _must_ be a way.

A wash of blue flooded his vision for a moment, before he was pushed firmly to one side, a wave of searing flame swept the demons to the ground. There was a flicker of green as she gripped her staff, the ornaments rattling slightly.

That wink of Fade green caught in his mind, and he found himself staring as she turned to him, entirely distracted from whatever she was saying, _shouting_ , at him.

_Perhaps she_ **_could_ ** _..._

 

He grabbed her wrist.

'What are you-'

'Quickly! Before more come through!'

She offered little resistance as he pulled her forward, stretching her hand toward the Rift, barely having time to hope before he felt the _snap_ of energies connecting and the tremor through the Elf beside him as the Rift flipped on itself and roared to a close.

He let go and she staggered backwards, clutching her hand as it flared and crackled, he wondered vaguely if it pained her.

'What did you do?'

He was careful to smile. ' _I_ did nothing. The credit is yours.'

She flexed her fingers, staring at the light in her palm. 'You mean this thing...?'

 

'Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also left that Mark upon your hand. I theorised the Mark might be able to close the Rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake - and it seems I was correct.'

This, as if he had thought of it hours before and not simple stumbled upon the answer by happy chance. It was startlingly obvious in hindsight.

'Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.'

'Possibly. It seems you hold the key to our salvation.' Not a comforting thought, yet Cassandra seemed to think it so.

 

In the new light he felt he had a chance to look at the vessel of his magic. _Really_ look, now that she wasn't dying in a cell beneath the Chantry. Slim and brown, in layers of tattered tunics that ill fit her, with the wiry muscle borne of hard living. She held the staff with the ease of long practice, the heavy instrument becoming in her hands a thing of air and fire. In the light of the falling snow he discovered that her hair, which he had taken for grey in the dim light of the dungeon, was in fact a subtle but distinct shade of _blue._

It was a wonder she was still alive. Last he'd seen, she was being pulled apart by the force of the gale trapped in her palm. She seemed remarkably... whole, somehow.

 

There was no time for him to ponder this as they were pushed further into the valley by another rush of demons pouring from the Breach.

 

The other elf went on ahead, sure footed on the rocky path through the snow and sleet as she lit the way ahead through the storm. She kept to one side of the path, preferring to tread on the slippery rocks to avoid leaving any tracks. Her feet were wrapped in thick boots she was obviously unused to, as she stumbled more than a few times and cursed under her breath.

 

The second Rift was closed as quickly as the first, the other elf darting out before he could say a word and slamming it closed. It was unnerving how quickly she had acclimatised to the situation, to the magic that must have been so strange for her, mage or no.

It was stormier on the mountainside, and he could sense the Seeker's disapproval with every step they took away from the charge toward the Breach. She shouldn't have excepted any different from a Dalish elf, who was raised among trees and hills and would be more comfortable in a scouting party than as part of an army. He could see the sense in taking the detour, perilous as it was.

 

The wind howled as they took shelter for a moment under a rocky outcrop, pressed up hard against the stone to avoid the worst of the snow. Cassandra had explained the route well, and while the group rested the elf shifted on her feet, clearly uneasy and wishing to be away. Whether she wished to continue on their path or fly away into the mountains was anyone's guess.

She had barely spoken throughout their journey, giving no hint of her feelings about their task, or uttering a word of complaint. She was playing a game he knew well. It was in the slight stoop of her shoulders, the downward cast of her eyes. _'Don't look at me, I'm no one important. I'm not a threat. How could I be?'_ It was a game he had perfected over the past year.

He wondered if she was really as meek as all that.

'You are Dalish.' Ah, there was that slight stiffening of the shoulders he expected. 'And clearly away from the rest of your Clan. Did they send you here?'

 

As she turned her response was soft and carefully flat, trying so hard to hide the cold tension in her eyes.

'What do you know of the Dalish?'

Solas kept his voice carefully neutral.

'I have travelled many roads in my time, and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion.'

 

'Crossed paths?' Her voice was suddenly brittle, and he felt his spine straighten a fraction. He wondered at her reaction. Perhaps she suspected that he had attacked her people, or done them wrong. He was quick to soothe.

'I mean only that I offered to share knowledge, and was attacked for nothing more than their superstition.'

Their companions were quiet, sensing the change in the air. Cassandra looked warily between them, shifting her stance in the snow, one gloved hand resting on the pommel of her sword. He noticed the Dalish woman's eyes slip to the motion just as his did the same.

 

For a split second Solas had the sensation of being held up to the light, examined closely with eyes that were startlingly clear for one so young. Then she blinked, and they were empty again. She was again that shrinking mouse in oversized clothes.

'... will we have a problem?'

He could feel the change of direction in the wind, in the gazes of their companions on his back. He had been seen.

She tossed her staff lightly to her off hand, her left palm open toward him. 'You've nothing to fear from me, Solas. Even _savages_ know how to negotiate.'

 

The uncomfortable silence stretched out for a long moment before he took her small hand in his. Then Varric coughed, his voice cutting through the tension in the cave. 'Can't you elves play nice for once?'

She laughed. It was a warm kind of laugh roughened from the cold, but a little forced. His lips twitched slightly in return. As the wind died down they pushed away from their shelter, further up the mountain path.


	5. Fiori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final part of the Introduction. Canon-deviant from here.

Behind her calm exterior, Fiori seethed.

 _Fenedhis,_ there were _demons_ falling out of the sky! And he couldn’t take a damned breath before he twisted the knife.

She never got used to it. To the experience of being rejected and scorned by her own people. It stung so much more than when it came from shemlen. She _expected_ it from them.

But showing her anger wouldn’t achieve anything but further suspicion, and could easily get her killed with so many Templars around.

There were also more pressing matters. Said demons falling from the sky, the dead soldiers crushed into the snow a few miles back, the ones that might still be living somewhere up ahead with time fast running out.

They might not be Elves or her kin, but no one deserved to die in the snow with their guts spilling over a demon’s claws. At the very least they deserved to be found, given a funeral or whatever it was Chantry folk did. If she was the only one willing to take the risk to save them, so be it.

Besides, she would be useless in a full frontal charge on the Temple.

A flicker of green caught her eye through the trees, even as the mark on her hand hummed like an angry wasp, eating under her skin. The path ended and revealed at last the soldiers they had been searching for.

There were perhaps five of them, heavily wounded on all counts yet still holding their ground. They were backed against the high wall of the terrace, forced ever closer to crumbling side of the cliff.

As she hung back in indecision those behind her rushed forward, meeting the demons for every stroke with seemingly no fear. It wasn’t until Cassandra called out to one of the soldiers that Fiori felt her body jerk into action, dancing around the demons and thrusting her hand into the heart of the Rift.

Her body jerked and locked in place, pinned by the force of the Fade as it swirled around her before snapping shut with a boom. She was left drained and shaking, but the feeling quickly faded as she found her balance once more.

‘Sealed. As before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.’ She couldn’t help but notice Solas hover at her left, watching the mark fade into her palm. She took no notice of his interest and watched as Cassandra helped one of the soldiers to their feet. Her uniform was a little different to the others, so Fiori could only assume she was the leader.

'Thank the Maker you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra.’ The woman was gasping and clutching a shallow wound in her side as Cassandra checked her over. 'I don’t think we could have held out much longer.’

Once she was satisfied none of the other soldiers were badly injured, the Seeker nodded, sounding almost apologetic. 'Thank our prisoner, Lieutenant. She insisted we come this way.’ Fiori recalled the slight twist in her expression when she initially suggested the indirect route, perhaps thinking her a coward for not wanting to be part of the main force. The last thing she expected was to be praised for it, and she felt restless under both their gazes.

'The prisoner? Then you…?’

Her tongue felt numb. 'It… it was worth saving you, if we could.’

Her knuckles went white on her staff as the soldiers quickly hurried along the backward path toward safety, still seeing the woman’s gratitude in her eyes, the shock at being saved by someone she helped imprison. _Because they wouldn’t save me if our positions were reversed._

She took a moment to look north, over the high mountain peaks toward the distant, warmer Free Marches. Then she blinked, and took the ladder further down into the valley.

Varric, who had been silent for much of their journey, spoke as they picked their way across the snow. 'So holes in the Fade don’t just _accidentally_ happen. Right?’

Solas went noticeably quieter as he considered the question.

’ _If_ enough magic is brought to bear, it _is_ possible.’

'But there are easier ways to make things explode.’

'That is true.’

'Assuming that was the goal.’ Fiori wasn’t sure why she spoke, and didn’t like the glances that came her way because of it. The words hadn’t come from anywhere in particular, and she shrugged under the weight of Cassandra’s suspicion.

'We will consider how this happened once the immediate danger is past.’

Fiori was aware of Solas looking at her, his gaze a sharp pressure between her shoulder blades as they wound down an uneven path between tall jagged stones. There was a strange smell on the wind as they passed through torches shielded from the wind in tall sconces, statues looming overhead. Ozone and ash, death and dust underneath all the snow.

Tall spires of stone crowded closely around them, pulsing with veins of pale green light just beneath the black surface. There was ash in their mouths, foul and bitter as they emerged from the path.

'The temple of sacred ashes.’ Solas’ voice was like a dropped weight in the pit of her stomach.

'What’s left of it.’

Fires flickered still in the rubble, columns poked out toward the sky though the roof they once supported was gone. Low lines of stone tripped at them where walls once stood, and charcoal broke underfoot.

Worst of all, as they neared the centre, were the bodies.

Blackened and mortified by the explosion, they were nonetheless twisted and distorted into postures of abject terror, as though the moment of death had stretched into hours of wretched torture. Some covered their ears as if tormented by their own screaming. Some of them were still burning. It made Fiori shudder to look at them.

Cassandra’s voice was soft and respectful in the deathly quiet.

'That is where you walked out of the Fade, and our soldiers found you.’ She took a breath. 'They say a woman was in the Rift behind you. No one knows who she was.’

Fiori scarcely had time to ponder this before she stopped in her tracks.

This at last, must be The Breach.

What struck her at first was the space of it. For half a mile around there was flat space, not even foundations to hint at where the building once stood. Flickering green spread through the air, filling her lungs with the taste of magic, and making the mark on her hand flare and spark in an answering call.

The nucleus was a cluster of spiked crystal, like The Rifts before it. Only this one was of a far richer colour. Endless variations of green layered within one another and shifting as she watched.

The sky above swirled with cloud and emerald mist, seeming to draw all things inexorably upward. Fiori felt herself almost pulled from her body, her gaze trapped in that whirling spiral.

As she stared a voice hailed them from behind. Cassandra greeted the red haired woman from the dungeons and they organised a formation of soldiers to stand ready. It really looked like she was going to have to do this, be at the centre of it all.

'I assume you have some sort of plan?’ She laughed weakly, looking to Solas for guidance. He shook his head.

'This Rift was the first, and is it the key. Seal it, and perhaps you seal The Breach.’

Oh, well. That was encouraging. Just seal it. Like the others.

Fiori flexed her fingers, taking a deep breath before following the group slowly down toward ground zero.

The soil was oddly smooth, worn down by the blast. The rocks were greener here, pulsing like a heartbeat which magic that made her head swim. It was like going deeper into a pool, the air was subtly heavier, slower somehow.

When that first boom echoed across the chasm, she stumbled to a stop, pressing her hands to her ears. The crashing sound formed into words.

_'Bring forth the sacrifice.’_

'What are we hearing?’ The Seeker’s voice shook with uncertainty as she looked around to confirm there was in fact, no one there.

'At a guess: The person who created The Breach.’ Solas seemed remarkably calm, but perhaps that was for show. As Fiori approached the steps to lowest level which would bring her to The Rift, she noticed some of the rocks glowed an angry red. The group seemed to know something about it, and the way they all gave even the smallest piece a wide berth lent caution to her steps as she reached out toward the crystal structure.

_'Keep the sacrifice still.’_

A thrill went up her spine at the response: _'Someone! Help me!’_

She knew who it was even before Cassandra confirmed it. Fiori dropped the final distance to the floor, dust rising around her knees as a ghost vision bloomed to life in front of her.

_'What’s going on here?’_

The crystals shifted and Fiori was confronted with an image of herself, a self she didn’t recall, eyes wide with confusion and fright as a shadowy figure loomed over a frail woman bound by tendrils of magic.

Her mind was rattled with fear even as the vision faded, such that it took Cassandra half shaking her to come back, demanding answers, her fury and suspicion reignited. Fiori glared back at her, frightened and cold and very much wishing it could all be over.

'I don’t remember. I really don’t.’

'Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.’  The other elf studied The Rift closely before raising his voice slightly so the surrounding soldiers could hear him, an aura of quiet authority surrounding him. He did that a lot, she noticed. Unassuming one moment, erect and confident the next. She wondered if the shems had noticed, or if they had overlooked it.

'So how do I open it?’

Solas paused, looking at her for a moment in thought.

'I advise you attempt to reverse your actions with the other Rifts. I believe it will be a simple matter, as you have learned that much.’

She didn’t feel as confident as he sounded.

The formed around The Rift, hemming it in on all sides as Fiori reached her fingers out toward it cautiously, as if a demon could snap out at any moment and take off her arm. As she got closer she felt that same magnetic pull of the energy in her hand until they connected.

Turned out opening The Rift was easy.

With a shock that threatened to knock off her from her feet, a demon emerged from the other side, wisps of Fade mist still clinging to its form. With a roar, it shook off the last of the magics and surged forward, making Fiori stumble back in shock.

A Pride demon.

She had never seen one in person, though her Clan teachers had described them in vivid enough detail she recognised it on sight. Huge and scaly, it towered well over three metres tall, with claws as long as her arm and teeth to match. With a booming laugh, it lashed out at her with a crackling whip, forcing her backwards.

Fiori heard Cassandra cry out to her even as she nullified most of the magic with her staff, scrambling out of the way to make room for the soldiers that poured in. She wavered in indecision as those around her drove in with blades and arrows, feeling suddenly small and useless in the face of the sheer bulk of the thing.

A ripple of unfamiliar energy fell over her skin and she glanced backwards to see Solas’ hands glowing with blue green light. The spell itself was one she knew, and she found comfort in that at least.

Pulling herself together under cover of Solas’ shield, she drew energy toward her hands, igniting it in a spark which grew and grew as she added more fuel to the fire. Finally she hurled it outwards, only to see it explode harmlessly off the creature’s back. She moaned in frustration.

'Disrupt The Rift! It will weaken the demon.’

With a breath she stepped through The Fade to where she could reach The Rift, reaching out her hand once more. Being pinned beneath the surge of energy left her vulnerable for a moment, but Cassandra’s soldiers kept her well protected until The Rift released her with a thundering _boom._

The demon was on its knees, the soldiers hacking at it with renewed vigour. Fiori drew fire to her hands once more and crowed in triumph as the flames visibly wounded the demon.

More came through The Rift, and Fiori busied herself keeping the small ones from bothering the soldiers, her waves of fire making quicker work of them than arrows or blades.

And finally, after what felt like an age, the area was clear. Cassandra shoved her toward The Rift one final time. She staggered with exhaustion but stretched out her hand obediently. The surge was stronger than any before it, drowning out the encouraging cries of those around her as her vision washed out in green. It was too much to contain, too vast, she was going to-

She didn’t see The Rift snap closed, or the answering ripple in the sky above.


	6. Shards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiori is an idiot

Perhaps the first thing he noticed about their Herald was that she had a propensity for wandering. It was a strange sort of dance to watch in those first few days as Cassandra tried in vain to stay on the direct path, only to discover the young woman had stopped some paces back in search of an elusive root or the dart of a rabbit in the underbrush.  
It was almost as though she had an aversion to open roads, choosing instead to take rougher terrain of animal tracks or rocky cliff sides. On the rare occasion they followed the beaten track she would step off to the side, treading instead on the soft grass.

And she had a habit of ignoring danger to her person.

‘Herald, I hardly think this is wise.’ He watched from a safe distance as the woman wriggled on her belly toward a glowing shard lying on the edge of an overhang, precariously balanced between the prongs of a desiccated tree.  
‘I’ve almost got it.’ Tongue between her teeth, she strained her fingers out to catch the edge of the artefact, ignoring the creak of the branch she straddled. Solas found he was holding his breath, resisting the urge to snatch her back from the edge before she dashed herself - and the Mark - to pieces on the rocks below.

This turned out to be a premonition as the branch unexpectedly snapped just as her fingers closed around the shard, sending her plummeting with a sharp cry of surprise.   
With a rush of displaced air, he left the dismayed party behind him and caught her as she fell, softening their landing with a puff of magical energy. He skidded slightly as they settled, feeling her weight drop suddenly into his arms. Her hair brushed his cheek as she reflectively clung to him, flushed and laughing.  
‘That was close!’ She curled up into him, tucking herself under his chin in a tight squeeze as the shock left her veins. He could feel her heart beating against his skin and let out the breath he’d been holding.

‘Nice catch, Chuckles.’  
They looked up to find Varric poking his head over the cliff. Cassandra followed shortly afterward.  
‘Any injuries?’  
‘I’m alright.’ She took a moment to catch her breath. 'I hope I didn’t hurt you.’  
'No.’   
She slid to the ground and he caught his staff as Cassandra tossed it down to him. 'Although I hope next time you will consider alternative methods?’

She bit her lip, teeth peeking out in a grin as she showed him what she had clutched in her left hand.   
It was strange he had not heard the singing before, for the object in her hand  _sang_ like a struck glass. It was carved of grey stone and was only a bit too large for her palm. A grinning skull was the centrepiece. Magical frost rimmed the surface, obscuring the details and paling her dark fingers. She rubbed it clear with her sleeve and pushed it into his hands.  
'Find something interesting.’ She tipped onto her toes to kiss his cheek. 'And thank you for catching me.’

He stood there with his fingers turning blue, watching as she caught up with the group, laughing at one of Varric’s jokes like she hadn’t nearly broken her neck. There wasn’t even a hint of a tremor in her light footsteps.


	7. Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this one a while. I love the imagery of Haven as a village in perpetual twilight.

The village of Haven was well named, sheltered on all sides by the towering Frostbacks from the worst of the winds, and nestled in a small valley on the edge of a frozen lake. Scattered trees dotted the snowscape around them, breaking their line of sight. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was barely a night’s travel away, making the village a sanctuary for pilgrims and travellers in the area, and now for the newly formed Inquisition.

Snow banked on the windowsills and fluttered down in the light breeze. It was colder than in the Free Marches, her home, and she had been provided with warm furs and tunics to suit the climate. Fiori rubbed the tips of her ears, warming them with her breath and a little fire magic before stepping further outdoors. The shoes she wore were unfamiliar and clumsy, but protected her feet from the worst of the cold. They fit well, and she had to wonder if they had been commandeered from an Elven villager, perhaps the young woman who had first woken her after she stabilised The Breach.

Her feet left deep impressions in the snow as she wandered the tiny village, trying to ignore the whispers that followed her at every turn. They watched her with sharp eyes, tracking every movement as though they expected her to burst into flame. She felt the overwhelming urge to cover her ears.

She was walking fast, eyes on her feet to avoid floundering as she instinctively sought higher ground. Air. She needed air-

Her nose collided with someone’s tunic, the rough cotton filling her senses with the smell of ink and earth before she slipped in her oversized boots. A hand caught her elbow as she fell, halting her descent in an awkward sprawl in the trodden slush.

‘ _Ma serannas,’_ she gasped. ‘I mean- Thank you.’

He looked at her then, his gaze slipping from the horizon, blinking the green light from his eyes. He gave her a slow nod and  a murmured acknowledgement in what she barely understood as Elven. She righted her feet and he let go.

‘The chosen of Andraste.’ There was a different sort of light in his eyes now when he looked at her. ‘A blessed hero sent to save us all.’

His smile was infectious, and she couldn’t help her twitch of a smile in return. There was no hint of the aloofness which had made their first meeting so strained, he seemed more relaxed, at peace. His expression seemed to invite a joke and she thought she understood.

‘I didn’t think The Chantry had Elven heroes.’

‘You would be surprised.’

‘You must tell me about it sometime.’

She shifted in the snow as he stepped away from her, walking as if toward a distant goal. “I’ve journeyed deep into The Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilisations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.”

He looked at her again. “Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

Fiori blinked, having lost herself in the strangely lyrical quality of his voice. She could almost imagine she was there, wandering among the ancient stones. It took her a moment to answer the question, though she longed to ask him more.

‘One who survives?’

‘That is usually better than the alternative.’ He paused, contemplating the horizon again as if he were a bird longing to take to the sky. She knew the feeling. ‘I will stay then, at least until the Breach has been closed.’

‘You weren’t staying before…?’

He looked at her, suddenly sharp. “I am an Apostate surrounded by Chantry forces, and unlike you I do not have a divine Mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating. But you understand my caution.”

She did, more than she cared to admit. She had been captured by Templars once before, and was only saved by the wit of her Hunters. She would not care to repeat the experience. She saw the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes wandered always to the mountains and to the Breach. How many times in the past few days had she wished to take to her heels, to leave all this behind and go back to what was familiar?

But for all her fears, she was protected, for the moment. She even had some small measure of power. Solas had nothing.

Pulling her fur hood from her face, she looked at him for a long moment and he watched her warily in return. She offered him her hand.

 _‘Ma'eth, falon._ Your magic can help, Solas. I won’t let them use that against you.’

‘How would you stop them?’

Her fingertips glowed slightly, bright gold in the gathering twilight. Her open palm overflowed with light that spilled onto the bright snow.

‘However I had to.’

( _Ma'eth, falon -_ You are safe, friend. My best guess at it.)


End file.
